Her Fire
by Adhara Snow
Summary: She's three years old when her family is slaughtered. Her father has it better, she thinks. He dies in battle, sword in hand and a vague sort of dignity. Her mother is raped and killed as if she is a common whore. Still she manages to deceive them all. She leaves this world with the relief of knowing that her children will survive. An AU in which Rhaenys Targaryen lives.
1. Part I: Rhaenys

**Part I: Rhaenys**

* * *

She's barely three years old when the Rebellion begins. She doesn't remember much of anything, but she can recall in her mind her mother's face and features, the softness of her caresses and the kisses she used to place on her forehead. She remembers little Aegon, and her mother's words.

" _He'll be safe. You both will be._ "

Everything is a bit blurry remembers the night when strange men take her to a ship and mother had the sweetest and most tearful smile. She remembers that smile and after that nothing more about her. The men who take her away have gentle smiles for her, but she's too young to recognise the kindness for what it really is. Pity.

She doesn't remember much of anything really. But she _remembers_.

* * *

She's three years old when her family is slaughtered. Her father has it better, she thinks. He dies in battle, sword in hand and a vague sort of dignity. Her mother is raped and killed as if she is a common whore. No one had ever thought much of her, her uncle Oberyn tells her: in Dorne she was a second child, she would never inherit anything from her mother, the ruling Princess of Dorne. According to the rest of the six Kingdoms she was frail-looking and a woman to boot. Her entire demur screamed she was weak.

Still, and maybe thanks to their opinion of her, she managed to deceive them all. Her daughter is shipped off to Dorne before the Sack of King's Landing. Rhaenys is still alive, safe and sound with her uncles and cousins. And the girl never tells anyone but she thinks that Aegon is alive as well. "He'll be safe." Her mother had said, she remembers those words clearly. And if Elia Martell managed to save one of her children, why couldn't she have saved both of them?

After the King's Landing Sacking it became clear to everyone that Rhaenys Targaryen was not there. The Mountain had killed Elia and little Aegon but the girl was not with her mother.

The war was over, the Usurper King had taken the Iron Throne, he had killed Rhaegar, and his wife and son were dead as well. Still the dragon was alive, for Viserys Targaryen and little Daenerys Stormborn had been shipped off to Essos by a loyalist of their family. When news that Rhaenys Targaryen was alive and well in Dorne reached Robert Baratheon's ears, Jon Arryn and Ned Stark had to physically restrain him from declaring another war.

The realm couldn't possibly afford another war and certainly it could not afford to lose Dorne. Rhaenys Targaryen was the dragon's spawn, but somehow wise men convinced Robert that she posed no threat to him. That "she was only a girl, after all."

Robert raged and complained and threaten, and once completely drunk he shouted for his war hammer. But a peace with Dorne was signed nonetheless, and the Seven Kingdoms were pacified once again.

And Rhaenys Targaryen lived.

* * *

Her childhood in Sunspear is joyful, full of amusement. Her uncles love her fiercely, and Rhaenys doesn't know if it is because of her resemblance to her mother or if it's just her who they love. She especially likes Arianne, her uncle's Doran heir. Arianne is kind and clever and full of life; she's the one who teaches her to ride and to sew and how to smile in the proper way to make her uncles swoon. Doran and Oberyn seem completely fascinated by her; she rejoice in it.

The Sand Snakes, Uncle Oberyn's daughters, are incredibly different from each other. Obara and Nymeria are warriors and had they been born sons instead of daughters, they would have been knights. However Rhaenys can't shake off the feeling that Tyene is the most dangerous. She's so beautiful that when they wander in the Water Gardens boys and men alike turn their heads to stare at her. One day, Rhaenys sees one man approaching Tyene with a lascivious smirk and wandering hands and she has to stop herself from screaming that some horrid man was molesting her cousin. She doesn't because Tyene kicks him in the crotch, after a particular dark grin.

Rhaenys is in equal part awed and scared.

* * *

When she's seven she asks permission to learn how to use a bow. Doran says no, at first; he doesn't want her hurt in any way. Oberyn though insists it is a good idea.

"She must know how to defend herself, Doran and you know it. How long will this truce with Robert Baratheon hold? He wants her dead and he won't stop hating her for her father's sins anytime soon. I won't have her defenceless if she wants to learn."

Uncle Doran is bribed.

Her lessons begin some days later and her teacher is Uncle Oberyn himself.

"I'm no master with the bow, but I can teach you just fine. You'll learn the basics with me and then we will hire someone more competent." He winks.

The first day, it seems like all House Martell is there to assist her training. She should feel uncomfortable with their eyes on her head, staring at her every move, but she isn't. She feels loved and protected. She has no mother, no father, no siblings; but she still has a family.

When she shoots the first arrow, it misses. Her uncle Oberyn however laughs and roughs her hair fondly. With such "skinny arms" as he says, it's no wonder she missed the target but she has demonstrated that she can do it.

From that day she trains with her uncle for three months. At the end of this period even Obara is impressed with her skills, and she takes up the task of training her.

The spear is her favourite weapon and she wields it masterfully. Rhaenys though is too young and still too short to learn how to use it, thus Obara promises to teach her when she'll be older. Instead she teaches her how to use a dagger, how to hide it and the places in the human body which are the most vulnerable to the blade.

* * *

Quentyn, Arianne's brother, shows her some books about her family's history. Soon she learns about the first Aegon, the first Rhaenys and Vysenia. The conquerors. After that she decides that she wants a dragon and is distressed when Quentyn explains that there are no more dragons.

Rhaenys thinks about it for long moments before frowning. "Am I not a dragon? The books said so."

Quentyn quirks his lips in a odd smile. "You are a dragon. Just a very pretty one."

It is indeed a weird answer.

* * *

She's only eleven when she wakes up to bloodstained sheets. She screams frightened. It causes the whole house to wake up in alarm. The guards open the door of her chambers in a forceful way and her uncle Oberyn is behind them with a sword in his hands. His dark face softens when he sees her.

"Calm down, little dragon. You are not hurt. I'll call for Arianne, she'll explain it to you."

Rhaenys can only blink at him.

When Arianne arrives, she hugs her tightly. What her cousin tells her in the following minutes is something she never wishes to hear again. Enough to say that she's a woman now.

"Does it mean I'll have to marry now?" She asks fearfully.

Arianne chuckles, shaking her head. "Of course not, love. I've been a woman for three years now and I'm still unmarried. The first blood doesn't translate in a marriage. At least not in Dorne."

Rhaenys smiles relieved.

* * *

By her thirteenth name day, she is a woman grown: she is a little taller than Arianne, her chest is full and her waist thin but not frail looking.

It's by the same time that Robert Baratheon begins plotting her marriage.

Soon a letter, brought by a crow of King's Landing, reaches Sunspear. Rhaenys hears Uncle's Oberyn's shouts from her bedroom and follows them until she sets foot in her Uncle Doran's solar. They both have very dark expressions.

"Uncles, what is going on?"

The two men look at each others, before nodding at her.

"Come, little dragon. We need to talk."

They show her the letter sent by King Robert. It is very well written, she thinks, feeling numb.

It states in no uncertain terms that Rhaenys of House Targaryen is now the betrothed of one Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell.

She can't think of anything.

* * *

On her fourteenth name day she leaves Dorne behind her back with a hundred guards, her uncle Oberyn and Obara Sand.

The goodbyes have been so painful that she's restraing herself from crying. How can Robert Baratheon be so cruel? She's not her father. She has never hurt anyone, even if she so wished to kill the Usurper King, who seated on the Iron Throne made for her ancestor.

And he offered her to a Stark. The same family who has ruined hers. Lyanna Stark had bewitched her father and brought the entire realm to war.

It was an insult, though she knows it would be worse if the King had thought about a Lannister or his brother Renly. That would have caused a really unpleasant situation.

But this Robb is not only a Stark. He's younger than her, three years younger. It's so humiliating. She's fourteen, a woman grown, and he's eleven, a boy. She grits her teeth, she already hates this Robb Stark.

It's a long way from Dorne to the North, almost two months but she thinks that this period will be useful to her, at least the long journey will allow her to reflect. She hasn't wanted to board on a ship, she hasn't set a foot in one since her mother saved her life.

On the way to the North, they pass through the Reach, and Rhaenys is awed by the beauty of it. She even manages to stop the trip for a few hours to collect some flower and fruit. They are so beautiful she really finds herself distressed when they begin to wither. After that they cross the Trident, where her father died and she thinks that all in all it is a good place to die. Better than the room of the Red Keep in which her mother was murdered.

The more they go north the more she gets cold. It's not normal, she thinks. It is still summer and it should be warm at least. She doesn't expect Winterfell to be as hot as Dorne but she hasn't expected it to be so cold in summer.

When they are getting close to Winterfell she insists to stop.

"It's getting dark, and I don't want to reach Winterfell at night. We will continue tomorrow."

Her Uncle and Obara look at her knowingly. Oberyn shakes his head. "You must not be afraid of them. Remember who you are."

"I'm the _blood of the dragon_ , and a dragon is never afraid. I know that. I'm not afraid. But they expected us today, didn't they? We shall keep them waiting for a bit longer." Rhaenys can't help but feel a little childish in saying it, but at the same time she doesn't care. In that same moment she could be in Dorne, with her whole family instead of in the cold North. It's Robert Baratheon's fault, but the Starks' too and she hates them all.

Isn't it enough that they killed her family? Must they alienate her even from the last bit of family she's left?

Winterfell is grey and somber, and more colder than she's ever dared to dream.

When she arrives with the Martell's banners shaking in the wind it's afternoon and surprisingly quiet, is it because of her?

She sees them immediately, they are all waiting patiently for her after all. The Starks.

The woman she presumes to be Lady Stark is heavy with child, but beautiful with her chestnut hair and blue eyes. The man on her side is tall and solemn, and the smile he gives her seem a little forced.

Uncle Oberyn helps her to dismount from her horse, and he's the one to speak first.

"Lord Stark, it's been a long time."

"Indeed it has. Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Oberyn."

Rhaenys is perfectly aware of the fact that everyone is looking at her, and can't seem to do anything.

"May I present you my niece? Rhaenys Targaryen."

It's her name on her Uncle's lips to shake her. She quirks her lips in a sort of smile but manages to look cold all the same. Lord Eddard Stark bows to her, and that's something that makes her mentally grin.

Rhaenys has tried with every ounce of her body to ignore the stares, but she only needs to look at her left to see him.

"And may I present you my first born son and heir? Robb."

Robb Stark is indeed a boy.

And he's looking at her with an awed, infatuated expression that makes Rhaenys cringe. She's a woman, three years his elder. He shouldn't look at her like that! She manages a smiles that makes him flush rather obviously.

That is the moment she hears him for the first time.

She hears a snicker and suddenly she notices the boy behind Robb Stark. He's tall, and dark and handsome. He's grinning and elbowing Robb, which seems to wake up the poor boy.

He bow profusely, "Your Grace." He stutters a bit.

Rhaenys smiles, even if inside of her she's screaming violently. "My lord."


	2. Part II: Theon

**Part II: Theon**

* * *

When he sees her for the first time, shivering in her far too southern cloak and forcing a pleasant smile upon her lips, he feels like his head is spinning.

She's the most exotic and regal looking girl he's ever seen. It shouldn't mean much, as he's never been out outside of Winterfell and doesn't remember much of Pike, but he has a feeling that there isn't anyone else quite as beautiful as her. Gods, she's more than beautiful; she's _striking_. Her dornish complexion and lustrous, black raven hair clash with her eyes in the most gloriously harmonious way. He has heard the stories, of course, and Maester Luwin has ranted about it in their history's lessons - _Targaryens are unlike any other family of Westeros. They are of the old blood of Valirya, and their features are unmistakable: the hair and the eyes ..._ \- but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of those deep, incredible violet eyes.

She looks at him for a fraction of a second, her eyes sliding over him, and he's lost.

* * *

Her reaction to Robb is quite comic, the way she struggles to pretend not to notice the obvious age gap between her and him, and her uneasiness about it. Robb on the other hand is clearly infatuated. How can he not, after all? She's as beautiful as summer, and _his_.

Theon is dumbfounded when he remembers this; Rhaenys Targaryen is to be the future Lady Stark. Of course, he thinks scowling darkly, but trying not to sneer. Robb Stark has all the fortunes; he will be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North; he has a family who loves him dearly; he's no hostage and he's a better swordsman than him.

He has always been envious of him.

 _Because Robb is a Stark, and his father loves him and would never give him a away for any reason_.

But now that he has seen Rhaenys Targaryen, he's jealous.

* * *

Lady Stark is _not_ happy about this betrothal and it is plain to see for everyone. Or at least it is to him; he has a knack for this kind of things.

When he was a clueless boy in Pike, alone and much overlooked, he had to learn how to recognise when someone was annoyed, or he would have risked to be beaten up. Usually by his older brothers, once or twice even by his sister, but it was his father who he really needed to look out for.

Catelyn Stark obviously can't stand the fact that her precious first born has been betrothed without her consent; nor can she stand that the betrothed in question is a woman grown. Thus her cool politeness and the ice look in her eyes. Theon though is surprised by the way in which Rhaenys Targaryen seems completely indifferent to Lady Stark's glares; a glare of hers is enough to make any man cower.

He feels the corner of his lips quirk upwards. Maybe she really _is_ the blood of the dragon.

* * *

The first time they speak is a good week later her arrival in Winterfell.

As Theon and the Starks break their fast, Rhaenys Targaryen announces that that morning she will join him, Robb and Snow in their sparring.

He chokes on what he's eating, but it is little Arya who comments, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. "Do many women do that in Dorne? Do you wield a sword?"

The _Princess_ , for there is no other way to address her, smiles lightly. "I do not wield a sword, Arya, I'm sorry, but a lot of women in Dorne can. My cousins are all quite good. I'm said I'm a good bow-woman though."

As Arya blabs at her, and the Starks seem dumbstruck by what she said, Theon can't help but look at her with an hungry expression that he hopes does not give away how lustful he's feeling.

At the thought of her with a bow in hand, he suppresses a moan, as he feels his cock twitch in his breeches.

 _Damn._

He clears his throat, and says, "Well if it's so, maybe the Princess can train with me." He's talked to the Starks, and certainly he does not expect a replay from her but he gets one anyway.

"You're an Ironborn, aren't you? A Greyjoy." He feels like a lovestruck maiden when he shivers at the sound of her voice directed at him.

 _Get a fucking grip, Greyjoy! You're no maiden! No green child!_

He looks at her, finding those violet eyes staring at him. "I am, my lady. And I'm said to be a good bowman _too_." He has always been smug of his skill and can't help but boast a little.

Robb, on his side, rolls his eyes, but the princess is still staring at him. He must have imagined it, but he thinks to see the beginning of a blush on her face.

Then she nods, "It is set then. We'll train together."

He's never heard a woman speak so _imperiously_ \- bossing around seems like her skill - and he finds it unsettling at first. She sounds like a _man_. But then she grins cheekily at him and forgets about it, to suppresses another moan.

It's later, in that same morning, that he sees her shoot an arrow with nearly perfect aim. It should be a turn off, seeing such a violent lady - she wears breeches to mirror his own, and her raven hair are tied up, leaving her throat bare.

He has the most brutal instinct to sink his teeth in that golden, foreign skin. - but really it turns him on in such a way that can be only defined as _obscene_.

* * *

Days pass and he still feels the urge to cross his legs when she comes across him, lest she sees the growing bulge in his suddenly very tight breeches.

It's _maddening_. _She is_ maddening.

* * *

One day they are in the tiltyard, once again sparring, and he's moved by a most dangerous thought.

 _Touch her, Theon. Just barely, just the hip. You want to. You're dieing to get your hands one her._

What the hell is he thinking about? Rhaenys Targaryen is untouchable, his foster brother's bride to be; worse, she's under Lord Stark's protection, Oberyn Martell's too. One misstep and he would be in grave troubles.

 _So that's it. You are no cracken, just a craven._

I'm no craven! I'm not afraid of anything!

But the voice inside his head just gets snider. _You are. You are afraid. And of woman's rejection, to boot. Your brothers must be laughing at you, from hell._

It's the thought of his despicable brothers that pushes him to do it. He approaches her with the pretense of observing her archery skills, looking at her left hand wrapped around the bow.

She doesn't seem to notice him, until he makes himself heard. "You really are a good bow-woman, Princess." At this she startles and narrow her alluring violet eyes in his.

There's wonder in her look, but this changes when, with a subtle gesture, Theon raises his hand to skimmer over her hip, barely for a second. It's swift and cannot be considered properly a caress, but Theon still feels his groin blaze up.

The surprise mirrored in Rhaenys's eyes is shortlived, as her gaze becomes dazed, and her cheeks seem to darken. Then she grins at him slightly, before returning to her bow. "Thank you Theon."

In that moment, barely refraining himself from gaping, he realises that Rhaenys has _accepted_ his caress, and has seemed to enjoy it.

Needless to say it. He is left with a burning, stiff erection that he pretends with all he is not to have.

But at the end of the day he still finds himself grinning like a fool, replaying in his mind over and over the small smile Rhaenys has directed at him.

* * *

It's Rhaenys that seeks him out this time. It's not too late, the sun is still looming in the sky, but he knows it will not be long before it's dark. It's a thing of the North, he thinks, for in Pike the night always seemed to arrive later.

He has just left the tiltyard, after having sparred with Jon Snow. The bastard has bested him this day, he scowls darkly.

As he makes his way through the the corridors of Winterfell, he suddenly feels a presence besides him. It's _Rhaenys_.

She's walking by his right side and he immediately feels self conscious in his dirty, drenched clothes.

"My lady," he nods at her, letting his eyes skimmer over the bare skin of her neck and down where her breasts are - she is really _alluring._

If the sly grin on her mouth is any indication, she must have noticed his looks.

"Theon. I have been watching over your sparring today, you know? Robb and Jon will soon best you as swordsmen, I think." Theon can't seem to understand her; she says this words but her mouth is still smiling mischievously.

She's ... _teasing_ him? He feels the beginning of a flush warming up his cheeks, the arousal starting to spike. And damn her, she's doing it on purpose!

But Theon is no maiden, he can take a bit of teasing.

"Yes, my lady. I think so too, but they will never best me with the bow. And I have _others skills_."

He is felling deliriously triumphant when her gaze shift from him to her hands. Embarass Rhaenys is _sweet_.

But when he looks at her again, she's staring at him with a dazed expression, and he gulps.

"Skills, you say. _Do_ tell me." She seems expectant too. He knows they are playing a game he's not sure to win.

He dares to wink at her, and hopes this is not taking it too far. "I wouldn't talk to a lady of my skills. It's most improper."

But Rhaenys Targaryen is not like all ladies, and she proves it when she comes even closer to him, their sides brushing. Then he feels her hand caressing his hip, in the same gesture he has done days before, during their sparring.

This is the moment it _all_ changes. Theon looks around, but he soon realises that, in his hurry of replaying to her every tease, they have wandered far from the kitchen.

He looks at her then. "Are you sure you want to know, my lady?" He doesn't know why is whispering.

She licks her lips unconsciously, blinking her eyes, with a resolute expression. "I have said: do tell me."

He's leaning towards her before she's even finished talking. He kisses her with force, wrapping his arms around her small waist. Her lips are the best he's ever tasted. Somehow he is not surprised.

* * *

She's never kissed before, it's obvious. She fumbles a bit with her lips, she trembles before letting them open for his tongue. She gasps in an surprised gesture when he brushes his tongue against her. The little tease doesn't know what to do. Yes, this - _He_ \- is her first kiss.

When he breaks the kiss off, Rhaenys is flushed in the most alluring way and Theon only wants to ravage her. Maybe she wants him to, because she attacks his lips with a new, ferocious kiss. It's still a bit sloppy, but the princess is learning fast.

When she accidentally scraps his lips with her teeth he moans. She takes that as an encouragement.

As their tongues meet once again, deep shivers shake him. He brings her closer, his hands on her hips pushing her against him; she brings her own up to his face and neck. She slips her fingers into his hair and when she tugs them he gasps and bits her lips in the process. She moans.

In the hot midst of their kisses, Theon have let his hands wander her body, resting finally on her tout ass.

 _This_ , he thinks, this is heaven.

* * *

After that evening, there are no more hesitations between them. They find little bits of time for one other almost every day.

Rhaenys likes kissing with _passion_ ; she seems to always be moved by fierceness and hunger. She wants him to hold her hips, to push her against him - the little tease loves it when she feels his manhood ready to take her ... only for her to turn away. The truth is that she delights in knowing the power she has over him; she needs only to look at him and blink for him to make his way towards her.

He's _that_ pathetic.

He should be putting his foot down and demanding she makes up her mind, but he doesn't of course. Rhaenys Targaryen isn't a kitchen girl, and he can't demand anything of her. Still, every time she slips away from him, after having moaned and gasped like a _whore_ \- he winces at the word, for he can't really seem to think she is like that - he muses about marching up to Lord Stark and telling him just what his heir's betrothed has been doing with him.

Naturally it is only a thought, and a silly, dangerous one at that. Lord Stark would send her away, shamed, and would probably cut his cock off. Or Lady Catelyn would.

* * *

It's two moons after their first kiss that she lets him take a hand to her chest. She's not the most prosperous woman, but she has full breasts which beg only to be seen and touched and worshipped.

She's the one who, one morning, during one of their kissing sessions, takes his hand in hers and raises it to her teats.

Of course, he feels like he's being given pass to touch her and taste every inch of her skin. And that's exactly what he does.

Like a madman he pushes her against the near wall and latches his mouth against her neck, sucking and brushing his teeth against her skin. He goes down, and when his mouth reaches the cleavage between her breasts he makes sure to leave a red mark.

 _Gods_ , she can't stop him, she can't.

And she doesn't, not when his hungry fingers find a way under her dress to cop a teat in his palm. Not even when he finds the nipple and starts playing with it. It's a button hard from excitement and arousal and soon Theon decides he wants to know if it has an even sweeter taste than the rest of her skin. It does, he thinks when he reaches it with his tongue. And she gasps and moans and trashes against him, whispering his name. " _Theon_ ," she says in a broken voice, pushing his head against her bosom, " _Theon_."

When she grinds her hips against his, she feels his hard cock but doesn't move away this time.

She keeps grinding instead, prey of her lower instincts. He tries putting a hand under her skirts, but she shakes her head and bits his lips. Not hard, but it is a warning.

He raises his left hand to her other breast then, and proceeds to tease it with his fingers as he sucks and licks the other. It's maddening this feeling, her teasing his hard manhood with her hips and him pleasuring her this way. And her gasps and breaths.

He's almost sure he will die. But when he grows restless, and seems on the verge of ravaging her, taking her against that blasted wall, she pushes him away from her with force and without as much as glance she runs away.

His cock screaming for release, painfully hard, he almost cries. _That damn tease!_

* * *

They never talk much, but Theon does not need her to say anything, to explain. Even if she's a lady, and ladies do not give permission to men to let them do this sort of things, Rhaenys has a mind of her own and has no father or mother to tell her that this is not how a lady behaves. And anyway she doesn't like the restrictions that comes with being a lady.

She doesn't like the fact that she's been sent north to be Robb Stark's wife and that, at least to him, is obvious. She resents Robb, lady Catelyn, Sansa, even Lord Stark; the family she will marry into, for she has not chosen them, King Robert has. She hates the King too, he's sure, the _Usurper_ , she probably calls him. With her brother dead she's the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and yet she's been shipped off in the North, far away from Dorne, to marry a boy three years younger than her.

He's some sort of _revenge_ , he thinks. But he does not mind, or at least not now.

* * *

It's four moons after she lets him touch her chest, that she grants him permission to slip his hands under her skirts.

That first time he thinks that this will be the time when she lets him take her, but she won't.

Despite the feeling of rejection, he doesn't waste his time. He's kissing her slowly while he raises her dress to find the smooth skin underneath, the glorious flesh of her thigh. Thinking that her sweet centre is just above his hands, it's enough to send his brains in fire. He stops just for few seconds but she notices it, of course. She brushes her tongue against his lips and open her eyes to observe him, with confused wonder. "What is it?" She asks.

He breaths and and keeps caressing her upper thigh, never going further. "I need a moment, or I fear I will spill my seed right now."

At that she laughs, if she is pleased by his answer he doesn't know, but he thinks so.

She blinks at him through her dark lashes and whispers, "I need you now, Theon. Won't you help me?" In the meantime, she has put her hand on his and slowly raised it to her womanhood.

She's so _wet_ , he thinks groaning, so much. He could slide his cock inside her the same way he's sliding in a finger. Her folds stretch to allow him in, and she seems to go mad with desire. He looses count of the number of times she moans his name.

By the time he slides in another finger, she is close to reaching the peak. He rubs her tight little cunt with more force, and then the sensitive bud that is the centre of her pleasure. She screams then and he is obliged to muffle her with his hand. Then with the other one, he makes her come.

* * *

When Robb is two and ten he hits a growth spurt which makes him tall and gangly, almost _awkward_. He doesn't recognise himself in his new skin, and is terribly embarrassed about how is voice keeps going up and down without control. Theon finds it the most amusing sight in a lot of time and Robb resents him for this.

One day, he dejectedly shakes his head. "Rhaenys must be so embarrassed by me."

Theon almost _cringes_ ; Robb has been infatuated with his betrothed since the first time he's seen her - _much like Theon himself_ \- but in the last days he's been getting worse. He almost never speaks about anything else, and even Jon Snow has enough of his lovestruck expressions and snorts every time Robb bring her up.

Theon, on the other hand, feels a strange cool sensation in the pit of his belly. Could it be guilt?

 _A Greyjoy does not feel guilty for taking what he wants._

The snide voice in his head is shaken off with a shrug.

A Greyjoy does not feel guilty, it's true, but Theon has not been a Greyjoy in nearly six years.

One night, some days later, when he and Rhaenys meet he puts his foot down for the first time.

"If you don't want to lay with me, then it's best we stop. I tire of you slipping away every time."

Her expression darkens and her voice is pure steel when she replays. "Do not presume to decides for me. _Ever_."

He should have felt better, but he doesn't. He doesn't feel guilty anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that he regrets having spoken those words.

Rhaenys punishes him by not looking or speaking to him for three months.

* * *

A year and a half after her arrival in Winterfell, Rhaenys Targaryen gives him her maidenhood.


End file.
